


...And Then There Were Four

by TheTalkingPeanut



Category: Xī yóu jì | Journey to the West - Wú Cheng'en
Genre: Attempted Murder, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Attempted Sexual Assault, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Hurt/Comfort, I have no idea where this is going, I've Got Problems, M/M, More characters coming - Freeform, Sexual Harassment, Suicidal Thoughts, Violence, mental breakdowns, possible death threats, sorrynotsorry
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-10-01
Packaged: 2019-06-29 19:00:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15735468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTalkingPeanut/pseuds/TheTalkingPeanut
Summary: A day in the life of a Chinese Peking opera troupe While doing the show, "Journey to the West".Wait. It's more than that, isn't it? Oh dear.What's going on here? Why are there four Wukong's? Why do they seem so off? How come so many things seem to be going horribly, horribly wrong?...and why is it that no one is noticing, or acknowledging this?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This whole thing is based on a still picture I took while watching one of many performances I could find of my new favorite Peking performer, Wang Lu. Don't try to look into it too deeply. I was just confused by the end of the show and let my imagination run wild (which I know better than to do but did it anyway dammit) and gave birth to this monstrosity of an idea. I doubt many will read it which is probably wise. I'm sure it's filled with many inaccuracies and all I can say in my defense is; I don't care. It's made up, to begin with, so what do you expect?
> 
> I'm sorry.

Greetings.

This is a story about a Peking opera troupe. Most notably, four in particular. Hence the title. What four you may ask? I'll get into that a little later. But first I think it's wise to discuss the opera on hand.

It is a fantastic, magical story famous in Chinese history known as Journey to the West. Based partially on fiction and nonfiction alike, it weaves a poetic tale so epic that it leaves a mark in their culture to this day.

In a nutshell, the plot is thus; four demons-turned-monks escort and protect a holy Buddhist monk on his long and arduous journey West to fetch scriptures to bring back to his home in the East in order to save humanity. (More or less.) The monk is exceptionally vulnerable but is not a normal mortal by any means. It is said that if any mortal, demon, god, or deity should eat his flesh they would become immortal. Hence why he is so sought after and needs the protection of his four companions. The journey is fraught with danger at every turn and rarely do our heroes get a moment's rest. In fact, so many complications arise that the journey itself ends up taking fourteen years to complete.

But I'll stop there in the description. For our story has nothing to do with that.

Our focus is more on one of the monk's companions in particular. His first and most powerful disciple; Sun Wukong.

Or, if you must go by his complete title, then The Handsome Monkey King Of The Mountain Of Flowers And Fruits And Water Curtain Cave, The Great Sage Equal To Heaven; Sun Wukong.

Quite a mouthful, isn't it? Let's just stick to the first choice, shall we? For time sake. 

Now Sun Wukong is a very prominent figure in Journey to the West. So important is he that he is introduced all the way in chapter one. From the humble beginnings of his miraculous birth all the way until he and the rest of his companions reach the West and become Buddhas at the very end. We learn more about him and spend more time with him than any other character. For obvious reasons. He's amazing. To describe how powerful and great he is would send me on a tangent in a direction that would take me far away from my own story. If you wish to know how incredible he is, I suggest reading the novels.

But in the meantime, I digress again. Because for the second time this story has absolutely nothing to do with that either.

I only mention it in passing to give you an understanding of the vibe that is surrounding our four main characters.

As I said before; this is about a Peking opera troupe. Well, four anyway.

So let's get to them.

Our four are in the opera Journey to the West, and each one is playing the same character Sun Wukong. It is the most popular version which is the first chapter (in the opera) and ends before Wukong ever gets trapped under Five Fingered Mountain, let alone meeting the monk Tang Sanzang. Basically, it ends with him being victorious instead of being punished by Buddha. Very clever.

In order to keep track of each one and not to confuse them, we will refer to them thusly; Wukong Yellow, Wukong Orange, Wukong Purple, and Wukong Red. Although I may just shorten it to simply their color only. Since they are all playing Wukong, why mention it?

Naturally, since they are playing the same character, they do all happen to look alike. But only just. If you stand them up next to each other...

Anyway. Let's get to describing a bit about our performers.

Wukong Yellow: Yellow and Purple are similar in physical appearance. They are slightly taller then the other two and are a bit...thicker. Not fat, oh no. Heavens no. But compared to the other two, definitely more filled out, I suppose. Not as delicate might be the word. Eyes are also smaller. That's where the comparisons end. Yellow's personality is different than Purple's. Yellow, that I can plainly sum it up, is tired of playing second banana characters. He's grown weary of his position in his troupe and feels underapreciated for all the effort he puts in. He's a very enviable character. He longs to play primary characters and is starting to get to the point where he'll do just about anything to have that goal. Especially when he now gets a taste of it when he has this new chance of playing the most beloved character in Journey to the West. Granted it's shared at the moment, but that can easily be remedied...

One more fact about Yellow; his only other color he has is a highlight of red. So, in a sense, he and Red are not only similar but are more connected to each other.

Wukong Orange: Orange and Red are similar in physical appearance, just like Yellow and Purple are to each other. They are shorter then the previously mentioned and are almost alarmingly thin. There really isn't much to them. But don't let that fool you; they are just as powerful and can handle their own stunts with the best of them. Agile and graceful, they are perfectly capable of being a viper or a swan. Their eyes are also rather large. And just like above, that's where the similarities end. Out of the four, Orange is clearly the loviest of them all. Not just in grace and control, but in beauty as well. His mask is also down to such perfection as to be envied. Out of the troupe, he is the most highly demanded by fans. So it's no surprise to anyone that he is playing Sun Wukong. Only problem; he is having a nervous breakdown and is becoming quite vulnerable...

One more fact about Orange; his only other color he has is a highlight of purple. So, in a sense, he and Purple are not only similar but are more connected to each other.

Wukong Purple: As I mentioned before, Purple and Yellow are similar in physical appearance. I've already described how that is so I won't go back in to that detail again. So let's go straight to his personality, shall we? As I said before it is different than that of Yellow. And indeed it is. Purple's outlook on everything is basically that he's just happy to be here. He's enjoying life, he's carefree, and whatever comes his way he's determined to have fun with it. He's also extremely protective of the ones he cares about. When he got appointed to share the role of Sun Wukong he was escatic. I mean, how great to play such a joyful role as that? Didn't bother him in the slightest he would only be doing a part of it. He was just happy to be along for the ride. Purple couldn't wait to get started with such a project and never seemed to notice from day one that something more sinister was lurking behind the scenes. Particularly as to why there were four Wukongs to begin with...

One more fact about Purple: his only other color he has is a highlight of orange. So, in a sense, he and Orange are not only similar but are more connected to each other.

Wukong Red: Red and Orange are similar in physical appearance. But you already know this, don't you? So let's move on. Now. Red's personality is vastly different from the other three. He's also the most frightening and depraved. One would say he's psychopathic. Are they aware of this? Probably not. Maybe Yellow to a certain extent but otherwise no. But to you, dear reader, yes. And this is important to know. You see, Red is exceptionally talented. Maybe not as much as Orange but damn near close. If he so chose to, he could easily be the number One without putting too much effort into it. Hence why he's one of the Wukongs. But he's got a major problem; he's obsessed with a fellow performer. It's to such a stalking degree that it stunts him from ever moving forward in life. Oh and it's bad. For he hates this person yet desires this person. He wishes nothing but pain, suffering and death upon them but also switches to wanting to force themselves on them and, well, doing more primal acts to them. It's driving Red to madness which at some point will cause him to snap. And woe be it to whoever is his target...

One more fact about Red: his only other color he has is a highlight of yellow. So, in a sense, he and Yellow are not only similar but are more connected to each other.

So those are our players.

There is one more important thing to know. In case you haven't figured it out already. Orange is our main hero of the story. He is also, unfortunately, our main victim as well. Poor baby.

The story will begin in the next installment. If you would like to know how this all continues, please read on for the next chapter when available. Till then, I wait with you when the curtain rises.

Take care.


	2. Welcome to the Opera

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story now begins.
> 
> (Also, I should have mentioned this in the prologue, but whatever. The reason I was watching it --besides the fact that I love Journey to the West-- is I love the actor who is Orange-that's Wang Lu. He is so gorgeous! Oh and talented. He can do flips and things in platforms. Wicked >;D)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N at the end.

"STOP!"

The little old master rubbed his temples as he made his way to the front of the stage. _Sighing._ That was never a good sign. They were all trained well enough for that. Everyone within earshot was silent and still. All eyes focused on him as he took his time, prolonging the tension to what was inevitably to come. That was one of the few remaining ways he still declared power over them. Even with this knowledge, breaths were still held, muscles were still tense, and one, in particular, had his mind racing in panic. Every second passing with agonizing slowness. Only sounds to be heard were the soft footsteps of the old man and an ever increasing heartbeat pounding in individual heads.

Waiting sufficiently enough, the master looked at each one of them through his thick prescripted glasses until he settled on the 'problem'. He narrowed his eyes. The young monkey actor could not help but gulp under his scrutinizing gaze. He knew what he had done wrong. And he knew they all would suffer for it. He trembled as the old master stalked toward him, a cold disappointment emanating from his body. They were nose to nose now. There was no getting away from him. A rod appearing slowly from behind his back making its presence quite clear caught the terrified monkey actor from the corner of his eye and he dropped to his knees and waited.

Orange looked away. He didn't need to see what would happen, he knew. They all knew. It was the same every time. Mistakes are unacceptable. Mistakes mean you're flawed. Mistakes mean you're weak.

But that's the price you pay for perfection.

He should have gone down to the stage the moment he heard his master's voice. That's what you're supposed to do. Obediently except your punishment.

But he didn't. For whatever reason, he stayed in his spot in the audience. He wasn't really focusing on the performance anyway. His mind kept wandering to other things.

And that's just how it was. Orange slouched there in his chair, in full costume and mask, mind miles away as his fellow actors were beaten for their failures. At that moment he couldn't have cared less.

It wasn't that he was heartless; Orange loved his troupe. They were his family. But he had been so preoccupied with his own problems recently there just wasn't room for anything else.

Especially now that he can't seem to keep them secret and hidden anymore.

At first, it wasn't so bad. No one had really noticed a change. But what he was particularly grateful for was no one seemed to be aware of the mistakes he was making. No one noticing meant no beatings. And there had been many. Being a perfectionist Orange couldn't help but keep track. Most of them were minor. But it steadily got worse. His timing would be off by half a second. His balance was a bit more unstable. He felt his voice crack. When he'd enter to move center stage, his mind would go blank where he'd forget everything he was supposed to do next. Granted it was only for a moment, but for him, it felt like hours.

That's when the panic started to sink in. Then came the fear. Worst of all, he began to second guess himself on everything. That's when everything escalated.

His mind went back to that day. That horrible day he finally let everybody know he wasn't alright. It wasn't intentional, that was the worst of it. Orange closed his eyes, reliving every agonizing memory of it again and again as he sat there. Why did that have to happen? Why couldn't he keep it under control for just a little longer? And why did he have to let it out that way? Why did he have to scream? _Because you're weak._

The mortification washed over him, causing him to pull into himself. He hugged his body trying to make himself as small as possible. As if that would help at all. God, it'd be nice to disappear, he thought. Just get away from all of the ones who witnessed it or heard of it. Not to even start over-he wasn't asking that much. Just...just get away. Until everyone forgot about it and moved on.

But he knew that wouldn't happen for a very long time. For this nightmare had only recently occurred. And as his master said, they had an image to protect, and that all the nasty secrets had to stay within the group. So there was no going anywhere. He was a prisoner in the place he loved most with no help from the outside world.

A painful flick of his right ear snapped him back to reality. He gasped in surprise and turned, raising a hand to protect the now throbbing lobe.

Yellow had his leg propped up on the seat next to him. He also was fully dressed for a performance when there was none. His Sun Wukong mask only slightly varied from Orange's, but even so, for whatever reason, his mask always looked like he smeared it on around the eyes. Everything else was fine, but never there. Orange had always wanted to give him a pointer or two on that, but Yellow never seemed to be in the mood for his advice. They all could practically put their masks on blindfolded and in the dark they knew it so well, but Yellow...Yellow always seemed a mess.

The slightly taller man was leaning on his leg, winced, and gave Orange the once over. Plastered on a fake smile, he said simply, "Master sent me to get you. You know how he is. Best not keep him waiting."

Orange stared back at him. He knew exactly what this meant. It was amazing how he still didn't care. But he nodded dumbly, got up and followed the other Wukong back down to the stage in silence.

Well, he was silent. Yellow hummed to himself some rather upbeat tune Orange couldn't distinguish. Whatever it was it felt very out of place considering what was about to happen. Orange made a mental note of it then promptly forgot all about it upon reaching the main stage.

The entire troupe was there, heads bowed in submission. Orange didn't bother to make eye contact with any of them; they wouldn't reciprocate it anyway. Instead, his eyes fell on the over-exerted old man panting in the center. Wiping the sweat from his brow with his sleeve the little master turned to him. Orange didn't wait for an explanation. He simply greeted his master then dropped to his knees in front of him and waited.

Nothing happened. Orange frowned and dared a peek at him through his lashes to see if his master was about to start.

His Master just stood there, rod at his side. A pained expression on his face, as if he was contemplating something Orange could not understand. He blinked at him, confused. Then his face cleared like he came upon a decision, and he raised the weapon. Orange braced himself for the familiar sting.

What he received was not what he expected. Oh, he felt the whip across his back which had been done a hundred times before, that was not the surprise. What did surprise him was the severity of the blow; it was hardly anything at all. Orange thought he had just been tired, but when he turned and walked away and told everyone to get back to work, the actor watched his retreating form in stunned silence.

 _"That was it?"_ Boomed Yellow's voice a little louder than he probably meant it. "I'm gonna have a welt for a week and he gets a _slap? What the fuck?"_

"Let it go, alright?" One of the heavenly soldiers mumbled to him in passing. "And keep your voice down."

"Suck it, queen." Said Yellow and he stormed off. By this time Orange had already gotten to his feet so before taking his leave Yellow bumped into him adding a grumbled "Teacher's pet" and wandered backstage.

Orange should have thought more into it. He should have questioned why Yellow was so angry. Hell, he should have confronted him about it and let him know he was just as confused as he was. But he didn't. Instead, he was distracted by the sense of everyone watching him. He exited stage right as soon as possible then stopped. Sitting on a bench against the far wall was the unfortunate monkey actor who took the main wrath of the beating. Seated next to him, in his characteristically cheery mood was Purple. It was very clear he was trying his best to make the other actor feel better.

Orange took a few steps closer than did his best to stay hidden behind a curtain. He peeked around and couldn't help but smile. The pure warmth and honest intention that came from Purple was always a welcoming sight. He didn't seem to have a bad bone in his body. He sat there and chatted with the other monkey actor, smiling with very animated hands. It didn't take long for the other man to calm down and have Purple's joyfulness rub off on him. Purple even went so far as to gently massage or press certain points to help ease the pain. In no time at all, the other actor seemed like there never was anything wrong to begin with.

He couldn't quite explain it, but this was something Orange needed to see. Having someone showing they care simply because they want to. It took his mind off of whatever funk it was slipping into and he would be secretly grateful to Purple for that. It was as if he was indirectly making him feel better from where he stood. A calmness came over him and he felt warm.

The sound of a camera shutter brought his attention back a moment or two later. He absent-mindedly looked around for the source but all he saw was Red fiddling on his cell phone, slowly making his way out to the green room.

When nothing more came of it Orange turned his attention back to Purple for a little while longer, then decided to go to the practice room to rehearse.

 

_The story will begin in the next installment. If you would like to know how this all continues, please read on for the next chapter when available. Until then, I wait with you when the curtain rises._

  
_Take care._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Notes: I want to make this PERFECTLY CLEAR; in no way, shape or form am I saying that this is what goes on at a Peking Opera Company. This is my MADE UP story. I do not claim to know the goings on of these places nor am I implying anything. This is just based on what I've researched--though I don't know if this is done any more to this day.
> 
> Remember: THIS IS FICTION.
> 
> Thank you.


	3. Take A Look Around

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting a taste of the 'naughtier' Wukongs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one is much longer than I intended, but there ya go. I mean, I meant to write it in three sections but had no idea it would be this lo-you know what? Nevermind. Here's the chapter.
> 
> (Also, fair warning; there is more swearing in this one and some-not much-graphic imagery here. Starting to think I should bump up my rating soon, heh...)

The master's office was sparse but well kept. Warm colors and plenty of sunlight gave it a welcoming vibe. The walls were littered with photographs of the past, framed documents and award letters. There was a simple desk by the window, and on the opposite side a comfortable set of table and chairs.

At the moment there was only one occupant in the room and that was the master himself facing towards the window hands behind his back. Soon a second occupant came in; the master's assistant. A surprisingly tall, well dressed man in his forties. His hand lingered on the doorknob for a second or two longer, then he proceeded inside and shut the door quietly behind him.

He took a few steps in and cleared his throat. When his boss didn't turn around he continued. "If I may be so brazen to say sir, you seemed to be quite lenient on him this time. You know it's not good morale to show favoritism."

The master chuckled, "Did it seem like favoritism? I wasn't aware." His voice seemed miles away, which puzzled the assistant. He raised an eyebrow. "This action didn't go unnoticed, sir. Already on my way in here I heard the beginnings of rumors--"

"What sort of rumors?" The older man snapped around, raising his voice and burned his eyes into his assistant's with such intensity to startle the other man into taking a step back.

It took him a moment to remember to respond. "Oh just, that as I had said; you favor him over the others, he's your pet, you let him get away with more and...well...well things of that vein."

The master visibly relaxed at those words and laughed. He took off his glasses and rubbed his face making the few steps to his desk. "Is that all? I can live with that. So can they. It will pass in time and if it doesn't, it doesn't matter."

The Assistant watched his boss carefully. Something was amiss. He couldn't quite put a finger on it but he had a general idea of what it _might_ be. He studied his boss for a few seconds, letting the silence tick by. Then determined to press a little further he stepped up closer and chose his words carefully. "Sir. I know you care about him a great deal. Above and beyond the others. I've seen how you get when you are instructing him, and him alone. I also know how much you expect from him and when he hasn't delivered to your expectations in the past...granted he was much younger and learning, how you vowed to break perfection into him. I have seen all this for I have been here for it all.

"But I also know that there is something else. That there is something that you are not telling. You didn't simply whip him lighter than the others because you love him. What is it?"

The old man sighed heavily, shoulders sagging, his body showing his age for the first time. He slouched in the desk numbly shaking his head. "There is more. So much more. He is so fragile as of late... I dared not harm him. I could not put him in that state again. You remember last time. I don't think I'd be strong enough to handle it. I can feel him falling from me and I don't know how to catch him. I don't think I can." He raised his watery eyes to the younger man's. "We must not let this get out. No one can know."

"And if it should get worse?"

The master looked away, eyes hardened. "It won't. He _will_ perform, and he _will_ be perfect."

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

He watched him move. He listened to his controlled breathing. The twirl of the staff, his graceful gestures, the muscles shifting under the costume. _Perfection._

He felt it rise in him as it always did. A growing buzz that filled out to every part of him. To the tips of his fingers, to the top of his head, right down to the ends of his toes, intensifying into a full body shock. He let it run through him. Several times, like waves. Such excitement was always well kept in check. He could handle it. He reveled in it. Always breaching the point of release but never quite getting there. He knew to reign it back in time. _Tantalizing._

He stepped towards the other man. His scent was everywhere by now. Staying where he was was not an option anymore. _Drink to me only..._

"Working hard, again." Orange jumped, seemingly startled. He was sweating. He looked around till wide eyes caught into cool ones, and he relaxed. "Oh Red, it's you. You scared me for a moment. How long have you been standing there?"

Red snorted. A slight sneer on his face, "Oh please. Don't insult my intelligence. You already know." _With thine eyes..._

Orange stared at him. Then he smiled. "Suppose I did. Come to practice?"

"Why else would I be here?" Red smiled back. His eyes followed a sweatdrop fall from the root of Orange's hair, down his painted cheek, and disappear into the collar of his top. He sauntered over to the rack and plucked up a staff, then placed himself next to, but evenly spaced away, from the other man. They began. _And I will pledge with mine._

Red moved in sync with him. They knew the routine. It was a dance of sorts. Each one perfectly in line with the other. _No. I am moving to him._

He matched Orange in every detail. When the one spun he spun his. When he poised his arm he copied verbatim. It was exact. _But it's not good enough._

Red followed his breathing. He listened intently, counted the seconds when Orange would take a breath and when he would release it. How _much_ he would release at a time. The steady pace, if it quickened, when he held it. And followed. Soon it felt as if his breathing became one with Orange. He had become in tune with him.

Red dared move closer. The whole experience was becoming intoxicating. He was losing himself in the world of just them. Red began to see visions; that he had become one with Orange. That he owned him. He had merged with him, around him, _inside_ him. _How intimate._

A gasp ended his fantasies. Red turned, felt the connection lost, and saw Orange leaning all his weight on his staff and panting. _But thou thereon didst only breathe..._

For a moment he just watched. Taking in the image in front of him to memory. Orange was clearly suffering. From fatigue? Or something else? It wasn't the beating; hardly got a tap. Red didn't know. And he wasn't the least bit interested as to why. What was, was that Orange was in pain. And that was exciting. _And sent'st it back to me._

"Are you alright?" He noticed Orange's eyes were wide again, staring blankly at the floor. He made an attempt to show concern by walking over and placing a gentle touch on the other's back.

"Yes I'm fine. I'm..."He trailed off. Orange looked up at Red and gave him a sheepish smile. "Just over-exerted myself, I guess." With shaky steps he tried to hide, Orange placed his staff back on the stand.

Red gestured to a chair on the other side of the room. "Here, why don't you sit down for a bit?" He took hold of Orange's arm and led him carefully to the chair. It probably wasn't that necessary, but Red wanted to touch him. Needed to. _Since when it grows..._

When they reached it Orange sighed into the much needed seat and dabbed at his face. "Thanks."

"Is there anything I can get you?"

Orange thought for a second. "I forgot my water over there." He pointed near the staffs.

Red smiled. "No problem." As he wandered over to get the water bottle, Red subtly lifted his hand that touched Orange, and sniffed it. His eyes rolled back at the others scent. He stifled a moan, but rubbed his hand all over his cheek and mouth. Fingertips tracing down his own neck. That same familiar buzz washing over him. _And smells, I swear..._

He picked up the bottle and brought it over in no time. Orange thanked him, took a swig, and forced himself to calm down. Red left him to it and went back to practicing. A minute or two into it, Red felt an exhilaration rush through him. His mouth opened slightly when he realized why.

Orange was watching him. He was sitting there, watching him move. It was stimulating. A thrill electrified down his spine and he found a second wind of adrenaline. His heart pounded in his ears, sweat flew from his brow. And the visions came back--more fierce than before; Orange, screaming, arms amputated at the elbows. Teeth blown out. Legs shredded to the bone. He's crawling through salt. Image shifts; Orange again, sweating, back arched up. Moaning intangible words. Body jerks with each thrust received. Changing again; Blood everywhere. Blood Orange. Blood Red. Blood Sun. _Not of itself, but thee._

A throat cleared. "Well, I'm gonna head out. Better see if I'm needed downstairs or not."

 _"Wait!"_ Red let the staff clatter to the floor as he dashed over to Orange. The other man had only taken a few steps when Red had rushed at him and began panting heavily. Orange waited for him to say something. Many things flashed in Red's mind, but nothing came out. When Orange frowned, Red thought quick, "Could I have some of your water first?"

Orange looked down at it and smiled. "Of course." He handed it to him and Red took a massive swig than gave it back.

"Thanks. Oh uh, wait." He reached out and traced a light finger near Orange's hairline. "You had a little something there."

"Oh. Well thank you. See you later." He smiled, waved, and walked to the door.

Red watched him go. When the door closed behind Orange and there seemed to be no one else around, Red brought his hand up once more. In the silence of the room, as his smell still lingered in the air, Red closed his eyes, inhaled deeply his scent from his hand, then slipped his fingers in his mouth and suckled. He roamed his tongue over each digit, savoring _His_ flavor. This time, allowing himself a much needed moan. _Exquisite._

 

~~~~~*~~~~~

 

"This is bullshit."

Yellow leaned against a wall stage right with his arms folded. On stage was a run through for the furnace scene. Currently only one actor was on stage, the one playing Lao Tzu. Dressed in his long white beard he was going through the motions to start the first few notes of his long solo number. Meant to give the impression of forty-nine days passing with Sun Wukong burning inside his Eight Trigrams Furnace. When finished, said furnace would explode open and 'lo and behold, the Monkey King would burst forth.

Playing that part would be Purple. So there he patiently waited. Backstage next to the furnace. He also happened to be to the left of Yellow.

"Giving him a pat while we get whipped. Who does he think he is? Little Prima Donna." Yellow clenched his teeth and kicked the wall with his heel. He shook his head at the very memory of what had transpired not a few hours or so ago.

The more he thought on the matter the more it made his blood boil. "I mean I work just as hard as he does, just as good and what do I get?! A world of pain and a few minutes in the spotlight, that's what! Total bullshit."

He thought of Orange in _his_ role. Enrapturing the audience. He moves a hand, takes a step, they yell "Bravo!" and beg for more. It made him sick. "I can just as easily handle this role as he can. Maybe they should give it to someone else for a change--and why not? Right?"

He looked to Purple who was watching Lao Tzu continue his song. When the man didn't answer he said it a little louder. _"Right?"_

Purple turned his head and stared. Then blinked. Then a look almost like recognition settled on his face and he gestured to himself. "I'm sorry, are you talking to me?"

Yellow gawked at him. "Yes I'm talking to you. Who the fuck did you think I _was_ talking to?"

"Yourself."

_"Why the fuck would I talk to myself?"_

Purple shrugged. "Rhetorical?"

The look he gave Purple would have reminded Yellow of the time when he was 7, and his father gave him some firecrackers. The first thing he decided to do with them was blow up a small fish. The look on his father's face was priceless.

But he couldn't have been more serious here. He was genuinely trying to have a conversation with him (granted it was more venting than anything else) and he might as well had been talking to the curtain. Apparently he was.

Purple flashed a toothy smile and turned his body more towards him. "Hey, don't worry! I got the gist of it."

"Pfft! Horse's ass."

"No really! You were talking about the punishment we received and wanting to be the sole Sun Wukong."

"Well, thank you, Detective Dee, for picking up on such keynotes."

Purple chuckled. All of this the two had to do in a whisper, so when the laugh came out a little louder than he meant, Purple quickly glanced around to make sure he didn't disturb anyone. Yellow rolled his eyes. It was hardly audible.

"Anyway. You should really let the 'incident' go." Purple said.

Yellow waived his arms around, "How can I?! How can you?! _Why is everyone acting like this is not a big fucking deal?!"_

"Because it isn't!" Purple leaned in closer, trying to get the other man to calm down. "It's a thing that happened! It's in the past now, and there's nothing we can do about it!

"And besides," he continued as he peeked to see where Lao Tzu was exactly in the play, "Master does everything for a reason. I'm certain it will explain itself eventually."

"And if it doesn't?"

Purple gave a small shrug and smiled.

That wasn't a good enough answer for him. He began fuming. He felt the heat rise in his face and fought back a slew of profanities.

Then suddenly, like air out of a balloon, it was gone. Yellow's mind cleared. His mouth opened slightly, eyes went unfocused. He just stood there, as if he had an epiphany. And he did. And it was glorious. And it was all thanks to Purple.

During all of this Purple had turned his attention back to the stage. His entrance was coming up. He had no idea of the 'awakening' that was taking place next to him.

Yellow ran those beautiful words through his mind again and again; _wanting to be the sole Sun Wukong._ It hadn't really sunk in till he heard it from a different mouth. The sole Wukong. The only one. No others. No competition. No Orange.

A thrill ran through his body that caused him to shudder out a gasp. It was like lightning had struck. _Of course. To be the only one. I can do that. I have every right to do that. They cast me in the role, didn't they? It's mine._

His eyes flicked to the back of Purple's head, boring a hole through it. _But what to do about the others? No matter. They must be eliminated._

Yellow stepped slowly next to Purple and slapped a heavy arm across his shoulders. He hugged him in. He was afire with a new purpose.

Purple tried to wiggle away, pointing to the stage. "Uhh, I have to go on soon--"

"How badly do you want this role?"

Purple blinked. "What?"

Yellow, staring straight ahead, curled the edges of his mouth in a crooked smile. "Just curious. If you had to, say, give up the role, would you do it?"

Purple thought about it for a moment. Then, "Well. I mean, if I had to give it up, I would. It's just a role after all." He smiled at Yellow, hoping he had answered correctly.

Yellow chuckled. "Right. Just a role." He turned to look at him with that Glasgow smile. "And that was just a question."

After a beat he let go of Purple. "You better hurry or you'll miss your entrance." Purple snapped his head forward and moved, just as the last few notes were being held. He moved into position, wondering if what just happened might be cause for concern.

Meanwhile, Yellow watched him leave. He made a few mental notes:

_Alright. Purple is not a serious threat. For now. He goes to the bottom of the list._

_Red will be tricky. But I'm more than certain I can handle him. We speak the same language. Sort of._

_So first and foremost, the goddamn thorn in my side, the tippity top of my shit list: Teacher's Pet._

 

_(The story will continue in the next installment. If you would like to know how this all plays out, please read on for the next chapter when available. Till then, I wait with you when the curtain rises._

  
_Take care.)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some of those little endnotes for the paragraphs in Red's section were excerpts from a 1616 poem by Ben Johnson called 'To Celia.' it's also been turned into a song. I've known of the song since I was a little tyke and have always had it stuck in my head from watching black and white cartoons with my dad.  
> Boy. Wouldn't he be proud of how I used it now... X(


	4. Enjoy The Sights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Orange thinks about Red, and something else happens...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Takes place immediately after the events of the previous chapter.
> 
> (Okay. I am SO SORRY this took so long to update. I mean a month? Really? Wow...  
> I was writing another story in the JTTW fiction world that was a one-shot and it ended up being longer than I meant it to be. Plus some RL stuff got in the way, and blah. Anywho. To whoever is still reading this, here ya go.)

_How mortifying,_ Orange thought, as he leaned against the practice room's door. He put a hand over his eyes and heaved a sigh. The events of what just took place flooding his mind, and wishing he could will them away.

Another episode. He had _another_ episode during practice. How many had that made so far? When was the last one? He couldn't remember. Or more accurately, he no longer wanted to keep track. He just couldn't mentally handle that anymore. What was inescapable, was that it felt like these 'incidences' were happening more frequently. Ever since the first one...

All of the others were nothing compared to that nightmare. The most horrendous. The most scarring. The one that makes Orange physically ill to think about. He had vowed to never get to that level again no matter what he had to do.

Or, at the very least, never, _ever,_ let another soul see or hear it again.

He had surmised at one point that some higher being must have heard this and had taken pity on him because of it, for thankfully the last occasions he had the safety of being alone. Any fear of someone noticing a hint of a deterioration in his well being had been mercifully staved off those times. They were hard enough to deal with. But at least he could deal with them on his own. No judgment or questioning glances.

Before and after an episode he had been able to 'fake it'; as in, pretend to be normal. Act calm and collected. Nothing wrong here. Orange had hoped that pulling it off long enough in front of everyone, they would think he was getting better. All would be well. Perfect.

What a fool he was. It was inevitable, he knew this. Ever since the first traumatic one that started it all, he knew deep down it would only get worse again.

And today, minutes ago, was the second time he had shown this 'flaw' to someone else in the room.

Orange lowered his hand from his eyes to his mouth. What was he going to do? What _could_ he do? Ideas escaped him. They were replaced with racing thoughts that made each end result more appalling than the previous.

He pushed himself away from the door and headed downstairs. But of course 'wherever you go, there you are.' The thoughts followed him.

His steps were heavy, weighed down by a distracted mind. He tried to think of an upside to the situation. The only one that came to him time and time again was the comfort that the outburst was mild and short-lived. He pondered what triggered it in hopes to avoid it in the future. It wasn't exertion. That was a lie. He wasn't tired yet. So what was it?

He thought of the symptoms: Panic. An overwhelming sense of inaccuracy. Failure. Tightening in the chest. Sweaty palms. Heartbeat louder than usual. Sudden blindness. Difficult to breathe.

It was a type of panic attack. Alright. But _why?_ Orange crossed his arms and frowned. Was it because Red was in the room? That must have been it. The other man was practicing the same maneuvers as he was and at the same time. That's when he went downhill.

Yes, that was it. He had a fear of being inferior to the other Monkey King actor and falling behind that his mind overthought the situation and put him in the state he ended up in.

What a ridiculous mistake. Orange would have laughed if it had been funny. But it wasn't. He knew full well that Red meant nothing by his actions except to keep in time with him. It was innocent. But he twisted it into something beyond the level it was. It even got worse when he sat there and watched Red rehearse the routines he knew so well.

Red was talented. They all were. But Red seemed to be subpar above the others. He made it look easy. His moves were fluid and sharp. He held grace in even when you thought it wasn't possible. Yes, he was something to admire. And for these reasons the longer Orange had watched the greater his insecurity had escalated. He began to compare himself to the other actor. Find fault in himself where he couldn't in Red. Noticed him getting better all while he fell.

And the panic returned. The constricting in his chest tightened and he couldn't breathe. It was coming back and he had to leave. Didn't matter where he went, as long as it wasn't in this room. That's why he had decided his destination would be downstairs. The long walk would hopefully calm his nerves by then.

He's got to learn to get control of this before it gets worse and consumes him more. If this simple act that Red does sets him off, god forbid what a performance in front of an audience will do. At least Red was kind about it.

_Red..._

Orange slowed nearly to a stop when his thoughts shifted solely on the other Wukong. He had been gentle and caring about his little 'incident'. Didn't seem to judge him. Or question about his stability. He merely helped him to sit then left him alone by going back to practice. It was...nice. Orange smiled gently at the memory and continued his trip to the stage.

It was funny. He couldn't remember when Red first joined the troupe. He could recall the other actors, more or less, but not him. It seemed that Red had always been there. But he knows that's not true. But whenever he thinks back to a memory, there he was.

Not just there, but always within line of sight. Even out of the corner of his eye. Sometimes, now that Orange thought about it, it didn't matter where he was or what direction he was facing. Red would be somewhere in the crowd. Maybe it was subliminal. Or more believable, maybe Orange was overthinking this and hallucinated the memory of it. Either way, to Orange, Red seemed to be simply... _there._

To anyone else that should have been a red flag. If he had mentioned this to any other soul it would have alarmed them enough to at least look into it. A warning of some kind. But he never did. Why? Because Orange never dwelled on it. Admittedly Orange never gave Red much of a thought. It wasn't to be rude, or cruel. It's just Red never made himself very prominent. Barely said anything. Ever. Rarely interacted with anyone unless a scene called for it. So this odd quirk went unchecked.

Someone nearby called out his name. It jumped Orange out of his thoughts and he watched as one of the monkey actors jogged up to him. "There you are! Perfect! You saved me a trip to go get you."

Orange waited for him to continue. "We decided to do a run-through of the Great Sage scene and I elected to fetch you," the monkey actor explained. "So now that you're up to speed let's get you suited in."

Orange nodded and followed to where the costumes hung. He didn't question, protest, or say he wasn't in the mood to do a scene like that right now. His opinion didn't matter. For the actor wasn't just letting him know but _telling_ him an order that had to be followed. Who cares how you feel? The play comes first. Such was the way of things.

He put on the footwear first. He sat down on a chair and slipped off his own shoes in no time flat and got right to the new set. Snug and tight, they went on like a well-worn glove. Once on, these things weren't going anywhere without taking his leg with it. When finished he stood up, now taller then he was before.

They were three-inch platform boots that signified a character of great rank and authority. The things the actors were expected to do in them was taxing and caused severe injuries if not handled correctly. The point was to move in them as if you weren't wearing them at all. Gracefulness was a given. But being able to fight, spin, flip, and glide was a feat to dazzle the audience. It was expected from all who wore them. And of course, so was perfection.

Next came the armor and the headdress. The other monkey actor, who had been laying out the separate pieces to the outfit while Orange got ready, stood and waited patiently till Orange would need his assistance. When that time came, he got straight to work. As each piece was placed and tightened, came that old familiar weight he had grown so used to the feeling. Some pieces needed extra care, and Orange had to go up against a wall for that. When that was all said and done, the headdress with its pheasant plumes was strapped tightly and securely to his head. Not a thing would dare move out of place for fear of mistakes.

The costume wasn't the easiest thing to get into. It has layers, needs ropes to keep it tied together and four flags in the back, and when it's all together it weighs 22 pounds. Anyone who wore it --including women-- needed to learn special breathing techniques on and off the stage. These techniques weren't merely restricted to this costume alone, however. The breathing was key to the actors for everything they did concerning the operas. Singing, dancing, acrobatics, you name it. However, these men and women had also been known to faint in certain headwear and, yes, this armor. Which symbolized a general.

And now Orange was putting it on for the hundredth time. Neither actor spoke to each other during this process. Mostly because Orange's mind was still focused on the Wukong upstairs. He thought about how he reacted when he tried to leave. Red had wanted to tell him something, and Orange knew it had nothing to do with his water bottle. He hoped that when this was done he could inquire as to what that was.

Orange nodded to the actor when it was finished and made his way to his starting position off stage and waited for his entrance cue. Five monkeys took center stage, including M1. M1 was the second most important monkey next to the Wukongs. He was quite skilled and whenever he was on stage, you couldn't help but notice him.

The music began. They started.

_Squeak_

Orange started with the breath. Always start with the breath. He thought of Red and the first time he took notice of him. _Genuine_ notice.

He doesn't remember if it was a long time ago, only that it was when they happened to be practicing next to each other, and another actor commented off-handedly how the two of them are so similar. He had turned to look at the man whom he was being compared to and ended up locking with Red's gaze. He was right. They were similar. He smiled about it at the other man and he remembers he made some lighthearted comment on it. But Red...Red just stared. His reaction was unreadable. He didn't move or respond. Orange took it that he had been insulted. It never went any further than that, and they both went back to rehearsal. Although it burned into his memory as unusual, he does recall that from that day onward the staring never ceased. In fact, from then on is when Red seemed to always make his presence known. But maybe it's only to him.

_Squeak_

How strange, Orange thought. That he had forgotten about it till now. Maybe there is something more to this than he knows. Maybe he has misjudged him. He was caring earlier. Perhaps, he wondered, he should try to get to know him more. Wouldn't hurt to have another friend on your side.

_Squeak_

Orange snapped out of his thoughts. That was his cue. Some of the actors were looking in his direction. His body moved on its own. Glided on to the stage. He began the first set of movements. All concentration was now on this. Nothing else mattered. Just perfection.

_Squeak squeak_

He moved slow and smooth as water to the center. Taking extra care with every jester. All eyes were on him, as he used to. He lifted an arm, raised a leg. Just like silk, beauty in motion. He pulses with the rhythm of the beats, lifts the costume, and tips his foot--

_"Look out!"_

Orange turns his head in time to see M1 before he slams into him and knocks them both off their feet. A moment later its followed by a loud _CRASH!_ from above as a large light fixture smashes and sparks where Orange once stood.

Startled gasps and cries erupt from the other actors as they dart away from the falling debris. Orange didn't have time to get his mind around what had happened when he looked up to where the light had fallen from and saw a flash of yellow (or was it red?) moving back over the edge of the catwalk.

He felt numb. Stunned. Couldn't breathe. Everyone was chatting but he couldn't hear them. M1 was next to him asking if he was alright and he tried to answer, but his mind refused to catch up to the situation at hand. Slight pain started to grow on his knee.

Someone grabbed him from behind. They turned him around and yanked his head into their hands. It was Purple. His eyes were wide with concern and he kept checking him over for any injuries. He begged Orange to tell him if he was okay.

"Y-yes. I'm fine." Orange mumbled.

Purpled visibly slumped his shoulders, sighed in relief. "Thank god."

Then something occurred to Orange, and he grabbed Purple tightly. He spoke stern and clear, "Don't tell master."

Purple hesitated, "Well, that's going to be next to impossible," he said, looking over Orange's shoulder.

Orange swallowed hard. His stomach turned as he forced himself to slowly face the front of the stage. His heart sank.

His master was running towards the stage in a panic, his assistant close at his heels.

 

 

_The story will continue in the next installment. If you would like to know how this all plays out, please read on for the next chapter when available. Till then, I wait with you when the curtain rises._

_Take care._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> M1 = Monkey #1. I am so good at naming things you guys, I can't even XD
> 
> (Speaking of that, I've decided that from here on out this character as well as others are going to join the cast. Don't worry. They won't be made up. Well. Their NAMES will be made up. But the characters themselves are actually in the JTTW operas. It just I have no idea what they are called so I'm going to give them stupid or otherwise ridiculous names. If I DO know their names, I will name them as such. Otherwise, prepare for uncreativeness. Sorry. :/ )

**Author's Note:**

> (Also, when it comes to imagining them, I see them wearing their colors and their 'masks' the entire time. Don't ask me why. But in my story, that's just how it is. They are literally the embodiment of their characters in human form. Hence the odd names. But then again that's for everyone in the story. They all will have odd little names because this is an odd little story. So there.)


End file.
